Mayoral Duties
by superblobby
Summary: In the chaos of the second Nilfgaardian War, a Mayor of a Kaedweni city must make a hard decision. Even if it means betraying his homeland.
1. Again?

_"Louis! Wake the hell up! WE HAVE TO GO NOW! THE BLACKCLADS ARE ON THE HORIZON!" _

Louis opened his eyes, ears still ringing from the cannonade that exploded near him. All he could see was the smoke. All he could hear were screams all around him. In milliseconds it all rushed back to him. Ebbing, 1239. He was in a Volunteer Regiment. One that was in full retreat. Except for the one yelling at him, Luka.

The events of the past month rushed back to him, they were on the Ebbing Stair. The mountainous heart of the lands facing the full brunt of Nilfgaard's power.

Louis long loathed Nilfgaard, he heard stories of what they do to subjugated lands. In fact, the young Kaedweni had a familial feud with the bloodthirsty Empire. His family came to Kaeden to avoid the persecution of Freya's Followers, his grandpa would tell stories of their escape to the Northern Realms. Of the Nauzicca Brigades that almost captured them, and sometimes the sympathetic Gheso conscript that had been guarding them when they 'escaped'. They'd later see him hanging from a rope...

The Volunteer Brigade arrived too little too late, no number of volunteers could stop the Blackclad's. Now, in order to let the Northerners live to see their families, the native soldiers were giving a path of clear retreat to the volunteers.

The man snapping Louis awake was Luka, a Cidarian he met during his deployment Gors Velen. However, in this moment of time, there were no such thing as countries. Only life and death in different directions.

_"Shit! How long was I out?" _ Louis wiped the soot off of his face

_"Damn near an hour, I carried you as far as I could, but it's getting too steep. The Soldiers 'ere are giving the Blackclad's a run for their Florin's. There's an evacuation underway at the River Lete, just past the mountains. It's our only way out!" _

There was a reason it was called the Ebbing Stairs, in 1123 the King at the time set about chiseling a pathway through the mountain, leveling it was simply too difficult. The result was a stairway through the middle of the mountain. Although trade was forced to be conducted by whatever would be carried by back, it's inability to offer a berth ensured protection against highwaymen. Not to mention an impeccable area to stage a defense...or an evacuation.

Luka led the way, with Louis close behind. Occasionally Louis would glance down the Mountain, all he could see was fire rising from every inch of the land below. Sometimes, he'd see an injured soldier stumble past them, or the occasional corpse. Louis despised thinking of the mother that would be weeping for them. He even saw a stony-faced mountain of a man walk towards the battle. The man gave the aura of an experienced peasant soldier. Worn down to an emotionless husk by years in the army. The three exchanged curt nods whilst passing each other.

* * *

Louis Charlins, the Mayor of the City of Ban Gleán was abruptly awoken to knocks on his door. The images of the grizzled Ebbing soldier fading from the recesses of his mind. He saw the darkness enveloping his windows.

The groggy Mayor opened the door to see Corporal Zyvik of the Dun Banner standing outside. Louis sighed, he couldn't stand the Dun's, they were Henselt's pride and joy and of course he decided to station them in his damn city. Although, he was growing quite fond of Zyvik. The man had become the unofficial military attache to the Mayor.

_"You're up early, Zyvik, this best be worth my while." _Louis told him in a jesting manner.

Zyvik wore a solemn expression while handing the note to the mayor. As if to add insult to injury, his Beaver Cap was tucked in between his armpit.

_"Received from the fortress of Glevitzingen, you've been summoned to the Garrison in 15 minutes." _

Zyvik closed the door, leaving the Mayor to think.

_"I've never been summoned to the Garrison...my presence has only ever been requested." _

As the thoughts swirled, Louis got changed into his casual attire. A suit he wore every day. His ensemble completed with a hidden knife in his coat.

Whatever was in this note was enough to make the easygoing Zyvik take off his Beaver Cap. The Mayor faced out his window, looking at the sleeping city. The people he swore to protect upon becoming the mayor.

After a deep sigh, Mister Charlins opened the letter. The words within it made him tremble.

_"Nilfgaard crossed the Yaruga at midnight, Lyria and Rivia are under attack." _

The quivering Mayor made haste after opening that note, which he noted was soaked with sweat and blood. The Grey Rider who delivered it rode with such ferocity that the stench stung his nostrils. Gingerly, he stuffed the note in his back pocket. Then set out for the Garrison.


	2. Good Morning (or so I hoped)

Mayor Charlins knocked three times on the Garrison door. A short and stout Dun answered it. Staring daggers into Louis, he yelled out for Zyvik then left. He peered inside, what he saw could be compared to when he was in Flotsam at the start of the first war. People were running to and fro. Pushing and shoving past each other. Gas lamps swung on the ceiling, pushed out of the way by the larger of the Dun Banner members. Although the Mayor couldn't see it, the stable was also abuzz with chaos. The occasional 'clip-clop' of hooves could be heard leaving the Dun Garrison. No doubt carrying important orders to the other fortresses of Kaedwen.

He also picked up the occasional conversation that was being spouted across the hectic disarray.

_"SOMEONE GET IN CONTACT WITH GENERAL VANDERGRIFT."_ A Dun yelled out.

_"WE ALREADY ESTABLISHED IT, AN ENVOY IS EN ROUTE FROM ARD CARRAIGH AS WE-" _

Taking him by complete surprise, Zyvik approached the Mayor. The de facto attache took Charlins by the arm. He spoke over the yelling and screaming. Zyvik evidently seemed pent up.

_"Nilfgaard crosses the Yaruga right at midnight, the mages try to spring a coup on Thanedd. Ban Ard's on lockdown...The continent has gone to Duvvelshys in a Mahakaman Blizzard." _Zyvik sighed.

The Garrison was a mess of Beaver Caps on moving bodies, Louis could barely hear his own thoughts. The determined Corporal twisted and turned through the maze of hallways and rooms. The further in they descended, the quieter it became. Although the occasional Dun would run past them dripping with perspiration. The duo finally stopped in a side room deep below the ground. Zyvik took off his beaver cap and produced a key from its insides. He inserted the key, yelling inside upon opening the door.

_"Mayor Charlins, sir."_ Zyvik dismissed himself. Louis entered, and heard a faint click after closing the door.

_"Come over here, Mayor. I need you to see this. Oh, and thank you for arriving on such short notice." _

_"You needn't worry, Nilfgaard doesn't wait for us to wake up anyways. I heard Zyvik talking about a coup."_ Louis inquired to the anonymous Dun.

_"Aye, but that letter Zyvik showed you doesn't contain the half of it. My name is Digod, you can call me Half-Gallon, but now isn't the time for introductions."_ Half Gallon pointed to the map laid out on his desk. On it showed the Northern Realms all the way down to Maecht. Off the coast was the Skellige Isles, and below the Yaruga was Verden, Cidaris, and Brokilon Forest. To the east was Mahakam, Aedirn, Lyria, and of course Kaedwen. A bit below the Yaruga were the forests of Angren._ "We received reports a bit after midnight that Nilfgaard had laid siege to the fortresses of Rostrog, Rozrog, and Bodrog as we speak."_ As if to read the Mayor's face, Half-Gallon responded, _"They're expected to fall by this afternoon, reinforcements have already been sabotaged by the ploughin' Elves. Oh, and something went down at Gors Velen, off Thanedd. Half the mages wanted to side with Nilfgaard...the other didn't. Not our concern." _

_"Such is our luck, we're Nordlings after all. We gotta suffer the Kaedweni Winters while the Nilfgaardians get to throw parties on the river Alba. How are Scalla, or Spalla holding up?" _

Half-Gallon pointed to the pins representing the Nilfgaardian advance.

_"Quite frankly, we do not know. These are the latest reports. Queen Meve was reported to still be on the highroads, coming home from the meeting at Hagge Castle. As for Redania...Vizimir got killed." _

Louis cursed under his breath

_"Damn it all! Is Henelt safe?" _

Digod nodded, _"His whereabouts are unknown...Listen, the reason I brought you to the Garrison is because the Dun Banner has been mobilized to patrol the Pontar. We are going to be clearing out the Garrison. I don't know when we will be back. However, you have to inform the people of Ban Gleán. It is of the utmost importance you get conscripts to replace us at the garrison. Good luck, Mister Charlins."_

The two shook hands, and Louis opened the door. That was when the urge hit to relieve himself. In his hurry, the Mayor had completely forgotten it. Now it was getting worse. Louis was about to ask Digod where he could go, but the man had already locked the door behind him. If there was a bathroom it'd be on the ground floor, Louis ascended the stairs. It was up the stairwell that he stopped a Dun soldier.

_"Excuse me, sir, where is your restroom?" _

_"Upstairs, you'll know when you see it." _

The Mayor sighed at the unhelpful advice but nonetheless persevered up the stairs. The quarters smelled rank, as to be expected from bunking men who haven't washed their linens in weeks. The Mayor found the bathroom with ease, as the soldier predicted.

It was while Louis relieved himself that fate would bestow upon him knowledge of what would become one of the most heinous actions of Kaedweni History. As the Mayor was about to open the door, he heard two distinct voices. One was slurred, loosened up by a drink or two.

_"Odrin...you've been drinking again. Hopefully not the Mahakaman brew?" _

_"No, jus' some Viziman Champion, and I dinnae spend all my coin either!" _

The sober one had an unusual accent. It passed as northern, but he could catch some words that were off. It was a spy! Charlins was about to burst through the door with a knife in hand, but he wanted to see where this was going.

_"Give this letter to your Commander. Menno Coeohoorn sends his regards, we'll meet again, over the ruins of Aedirn." _

The two departed from each other's company. The spy opted for a window exit, disappearing into the backstreets of Ban Gleán. As for Odrin, he stumbled down the stairs en route to Digod's Office.

Mayor Charlins made his way downstairs, he knew better than to report this. That's how dissidents of Henselt get sent to early retirement, or worse off…

Louis brushed the thoughts from his head. Downstairs the chaos resumed to full volume. He once again sailed the sea of Dun's, this time Zyvik wasn't there to guide him.

Instead, Zyvik was waiting at the door. He had obviously grown to respect the Mayor, as did Louis. The two exchanged a smile, then an initially brief hug. It was extended when Louis pulled him close and whispered into his ear.

_"When you get sent to Aedirn, why don't you write to me?" _

With that, Mayor Louis Charlins parted ways with the Dun Banner. Just as the first specks of sunlight dotted the sky.


	3. City Council

The disorder coming from the Dun Banner garrison faded away. Louis walked down the darkened streets. Shafts of sunlight crept through the buildings of the city. He observed more people opening their shops, the distant clank of a Blacksmith forging a sword could be heard. Some people walked past him, unaware that a few hundred miles there is a war unfolding. The Aedirnians and Lyrians don't have that privilege.

* * *

The Mayor slammed the door to the town hall open. His secretary, Carol Vigo, dropped the breakfast he was preparing for the Mayor. Startled, she began to speak.

_"Oh, good morning Louis, is anything the matter? You're acting like Lebioda just flashed you."_ She chuckled.

Louis gave the slip of paper to his secretary.

_"Zyvik dropped this off for me earlier today, make sure it gets to the newspaper, and convene the council. It's an emergency meeting, and bring Marcel Baskabol this time." _

_"But sir-" _

_"I don't care what the other representatives say. Get them here, Nilfgaard crossed the Yaruga." _

Carol turned pale.

_"A-Again? All the blood spilled at Sodden Hill, done for naught?" _

Louis nodded, Carol sharply inhaled.

_"You can expect them here before noon." _

Carol exited the Mayor's office, making sure the door was shut before she yelled out orders on his behest. It was more of a polite gesture, when she hollered commands the whole building could shake.

* * *

It was noon, the town council gathered in the meeting room. Around it sat five people.

Jan Stryker, head of the Ban Gléan merchants guild. He put the guild members above all other importance of the city

Dorothy Callister, representative of the Unicorn Dynasty. She was the only female in the group. This woman was the direct line from the Kaedweni Crown to the Southern City.

Marcel Baskabol, representative of Ban Gléan D'hoine. He also racked up twenty Vrihedd Brigade kills during the first war. His disdain toward the elven race was only withdrawn for Carlisle Skelter.

Lastly, there was the aforementioned Carlisle Skelter, Elven representative of the Ban Gléan nonhumans. All other members, save for Marcel and the Mayor grimaced upon his entrance. Carlisle served in Temerian intelligence as a valuable undercover spy. The Squirrels had a bounty on him for years. In fact, he had fought off three assassination attempts during his time in Kaedwen.

They took their seats, all of the members staring daggers into each other.

_"Gentlemen, and Woman, I must thank you for convening on an emergency basis. I shall do away with the formalities. This morning I was notified by the Dun Banner that Nilfgaard has pushed into Dol Angra...This is no longer a border skirmish, The North is at war once again." _

The room's occupants went pale. Whilst the outside sky darkened. There was a storm coming, in more ways than one. A silence fell upon each of the occupants.

Jan could only think about his two sons in Ard Skellig. How long until they got the news? Should they stay in Skellige until the war blows over? The thoughts weighed heavily on his mind.

Carlisle and Marcel looked at each other. They knew that once the squirrels attacked, the humans would start massacring the ghettoes. All they could do was sigh and hope that Ban Gléan didn't make that list.

Dorothy could only think of three things, her son who breathed his last on the Marnadal stairs, the Scoia'tael who slaughtered her daughter, and her only surviving grandson who lived with distant relatives in Pont Vanis.

While the majority of the group were consumed in thought, Marcel asked the necessary question...The one involving the Scoia'tael.

_"Are the Scoia'tael ramping up attacks? Is the Vrihedd Brigade back in action?" _

Jan Stryker interjected before the Mayor could answer.

_"I'm sure you already know the answer to that." _

Marcel spoke rather harshly, on Carlisle's behalf.

_"Oh fuck off Jan. If it were up to you and your guild boys, you'd sell this city to Nilfgaard for three and a half Florins." _

Louis slammed his fist on the table. Silencing everyone in the room with his reaction to the icy disagreements.

_"THAT'S ENOUGH! Can't you dimwits see that this is what Nilfgaard wants. Emhyr Var Emreis wants this infighting, that's how we fall...you all remember Cintra, right? It was our reluctance that fucked over Calanthe, and it was our United forces at Sodden hill that stopped Nilfgaard the first time. Do you know what'll happen once the Continent falls under their grasp? They're gonna look east, to Zerrikania, and then west to Skellige...Who knows what they'll do after that, turn their sights to Ofier?" _

Dorothy Callister spoke up for the first time in the meeting.

_"The Mayor is right, when I served in the royal palace at Ard Carraigh we had a Nilfgaardian deserter on the General Staff. According to him, Var Emreis is an ambitious man. So long as he sits on the throne the man'll chomp away at the north until they are all provinces. It began in Ebbing, and it'll end in Kovir. Somewhere in between...there will be us." _

Carlisle sighed, sensing the hopelessness in Dorothy's voice.

_"That's it, huh, keep on waiting until Nilfgaard subjugates us? While the merchants thrive on the North in shackles." _

Jan Stryker sighed a response back to Carlisle.

_"You know damn well our crafts are being destroyed by those impossible to pronounce fucks too. Anything south of Maribor is most likely a Nilfgaardian good. We just can't compete with them." _

Marcel silenced both of them, but Carlisle and Jan already understood they were both equally fucked under Nilfgaard's heel.

_"So, what the hell are we supposed to do? We're a border city, not a large one at that. How do we play in the grand scheme of things?" _

_"I'm glad you asked Marcel, but before I tell you…" _

He nodded at the two guards in the room. They simultaneously slammed the oak doors shut. They squeaked on its hinges as it closed with a mighty _**THUD**_.

The closure coincided with a crack of lighting. Signaling that the rains would be coming soon. Jan and Marcel got up from their seats. Together, they set about opening the windows in the room. The opportunity for summer rain wasn't going to pass them by so easily.

_"I need to know that whatever I say doesn't leave this room." _

Louis surveyed the room, a brief silence ensued until Dorothy Callister voiced her concerns.

_"So...what're you gonna do now? Have you brokered a deal with the blackclads already?" _

Louis took offense to that, Dorothy knew he was a veteran of Ebbing. The rains let loose, filling the room with cool air. Just enough to neutralize Louis's hot temper.

_"Wha...No! I fought in Ebbing!" _Louis took a deep breath, releasing his anger with the exhale that followed. _" _

_What I'm about to tell you is something that nobody in the royal court should hear. Other than you." _

Dorothy nodded, then gestured for Louis to continue.

_"The same applies to all of you...Henselt is planning to betray the North." _

Dorothy and Marco muttered in agreement, they knew Henselt was nothing more than a thief in King's clothing. Meanwhile, Carlisle and Jan remained skeptical.

_"Care to explain where you got such a baseless accusation, Louis?" _

Jan Stryker glanced at Louis, adamantly waiting for an answer that he thought would never come.

_"I was just getting to that. Do you really think I'd go through all this trouble without having proof? Anyways, this morning, when I was in the Dun Banner barracks, I had to piss after my meeting. So I went upstairs to use the toilet. It was there that I accidentally stumbled upon a secret meeting between two people. One of them is a messenger on behalf of Menno Coehoorn. Y'know, the Governor of Cintra. That son of a bitch Henselt cut a deal with the Blackclads. Whatever the cunt promised to do at Hagge Castle, he won't deliver. Instead, he's going to march the Dun Banner across the Pontar and shake hands with Coehoorn on the River Dyphne." _

Marcel was convinced. He'd seen betrayals like that before. Vividly recalling when North stalled to aid Cintra. Jan still wasn't swayed, he voiced his doubts.

_"How are you so sure? Can't the Duns just be patrolling the Pontar, we are a border city after all." _

Dorothy interrupted Louis before he could speak. She could vouch for him thanks to the vast experience in the Ard Carraigh palace.

_"The Duns are Henselt's pride and joy, he marches them at the front in every parade. I've heard a lot of the general staff complain about how he outright ignores his siege divisions. Now, do you think it'd make more sense for him to have the precious Dun Banners do some 'border patrols'? Or perhaps it's more likely he's sending the Duns across Upper Aedirn to shake hands and size up the Blackclads." _

Jan sighed, _"I suppose that's true, I'm convinced, but whatever you're going to do I'm not on board yet. How much time do we have anyway? I've had to outrun the Alba Division before, at the speed they move you'd think you're riding against the Wild Hunt."_

Now that the group was united, they turned to Louis for guidance.

_"Hm...we could try to warn Aedirn, do we have a Grey Rider in our employ?" _

Carlisle nodded, _"Yes, fast as the wind and silent as the night. In fact, I heard he stole a Vrihedd's Steed at Brokilon and it took a day for them to notice. By that time he was already in Ellander."_

Marcel spoke up, his voice beaming with skepticism.

_"So we've got a Grey Rider, but where do we send him? Our heads will roll if we tell the wrong people." _

It was within Marcel's sentence that Louis found a plan. He recalled Dorothy's nonchalant reference of a Nilfgaardian deserter in the Royal court.

_"Dorothy, earlier you mentioned that there's a Nilfgaardian in the Palace. How's he doing nowadays? Perhaps it's time he paid a visit to Ban Gléan." _

Dorothy nodded, _"He's still in Ard Carraigh. I suggest we send the Grey Rider up North. Perhaps we can stop all this before it unfolds."_

Jan Stryker pulled out a pouch of coins. Surprising everyone in the room. Jan was a frugal man, that was how he was elected to this position, after all.

_"The merchants thrive in a unified North, we can't have any backstabbing. Split this between the Grey Rider and the Nilfgaardian. Salaries don't secure silence, but a few extra Ducats can get the job done. Whatever you're gonna do Louis, the Trade Guilds will support you financially." _

What he didn't tell the rest of the group was that he wanted to make sure his sons made it through the war. He would pay any price to have his boys bury him, rather than have to bury them. Meanwhile, Dorothy spoke to Louis.

_"I support you too, but I can't lend any coin. As a courtesy, I can keep you in contact with the Nilfgaardian and keep Henselt in the dark of any affairs."_

Marcel and Carlisle were conversing. All eyes fell on the unlikely duo who would've stabbed each other a few years back. It was Marcel who spoke up.

_"Me and Marcel talked it over. The Nonhumans hate Demavend, but we despise Henselt even more. Most of Jan's trades guilds are already nonhuman, but it won't take a lot of convincing for the rest of the lot. As for the D'hoine of Ban Gléan, I'm sure there are spies among us. He's going to keep this under wraps. That goes for you people too. Henselt has deep coffers, and he's gonna spend every Ducat to make sure this betrayal goes through." _

The group nodded in agreement. They looked to Louis for the final time at that meeting.

_"This meeting is dismissed, remember, if any agent of the crown catches us, they'll stretch our necks for it." _

The guards opened the door, one by one, the guests filed out of the room. Leaving only Lewis and the two guards.

_"You two, tell the Captain to double security in anticipation for assassins. Say that you got word of a Nilfgaardian plot to destabilize small cities to make it easier for the Scoia'tael or whatnot. Also, get word to Carol to prepare a meeting for the city and the outlying villages. People need to be informed. Make sure no one comes in here unless its Emhyr Var Emreis himself." _

The two guards looked at each other, then to Louis. The bearded one spoke up.

_"That sounds pretty important sir, what are you planning on doing?" _

_"I'm taking a damn nap." _


	4. A Letter For Louis

Dorothy Callister witnessed the Grey Rider near her apartment. She knew they were going to rendezvous in the stables. A transaction that would occur under moonlight.

She grabbed a loaf of bread upon departure. Three moons had passed since the Grey Rider departed. The man needed it.

The narrow hallway she walked down was only a few inches taller than her. She despised it, always inches away from bumping into a roof. Shoulda joined the army, like that Black Rayla girl she met during Demavend'd visit.

The thoughts consumed her every time she wanted to join the army. The war had already taken her two kids from her, and she was the sole provider of her only grandchild. She wasn't gonna throw her life away on a whim, no, she was a politician...An agent of the crown.

Dorothy found herself in the stable at the end of her wagon of thought. The Grey Rider pulled in and stepped off his horse. He was half of Dorothy's height, but still towered over a dwarf. His horse eagerly gnawed on hay. The man took his hood off, revealing the sweating visage that lay underneath.

"From Caldwyn Aep Stregaa…" he wheezed through exhausted pants, eagerly eyeing the bread that Dorothy brought with her.

Dorothy nodded, the small man scarfed the entire loaf within seconds. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a sealed letter contained within his messengers cylinder.

"Thank you sir, you're free to rest in the stables, and as always, you're paid for your silence. Goodnight."

A pouch of coin landed in the Grey Riders hands, courtesy of Jan Strykers personal fund. The man tucked it within the bowels of his jacket then set about making himself comfy in the stable hands cot.

* * *

Dorothy found herself outside the Mayor's office, she knocked three times in close succession. Moonlight was still shining strong, the summer nights in Ban Gléan were always something to behold. The door swung open, and Louis ushered her inside. Closing and locking it behind her.

Inside, Louis was looking over his notes, which contained the most information he knew about the war...Save for the elephant in the room. He looked up from his notes.

"Time is of the essence Dorothy, the peasants from the outlying villages are gathering in the morn. Open the letter."

The seal broke, the letter opened. Louis diligently read while Dorothy listened.

* * *

"Dear Louis,

I would like to thank you for reaching out. I knew Dorothy made the right decision by contacting me. Rest assured I shan't inform Henselt about this. If he wasn't born a King I'm sure he would be running amok with the Duke of Dogs. Regardless, now that we have become acquaintances, I think it best that I tell you how I got here.

I am a high-born Nilfgaardian, not a part of a subjugated province. My father is Jeurgen Stregaa, a noble of Vicovaro. I assume Dorothy told you I'm a part of the General Staff, that is true, but I'm also related to the lord of Shaerrawedd. I've had a career in the army, and I worked with the Northern Coalition during the first war.

But first I must first tell you of my past if you are to understand my precarious situation that lead to my life in Kaedwen. For, I was born into a good life, the eldest child of the nobility. My father's name was Dilan, you do not know of him. The North doesn't remember the good Nilfgaardians.

My father wasn't like other nobles. As soon as I was able to walk, he sent me to the fields. Wanted me to toil like the peasants. He didn't give a naught for high blood. To this day I won't be afraid to give a farmer a hand in the harvest if he so needs it. I remember during one particularly bad harvest, we ate once a day just to give the rest of our food to his subjects. Not even the dogs starved that winter.

The events that changed my life began in 1257. It was an Autumn day, and I had just finished storing harvest tools in a shed. Frontin, the man who's tools I was storing for the winter, invited me to the tavern for a drink. I accepted, as any young bloke does for the opportunity for cold ale.

A chilly wind was whipping about as we made our way about the town. Perhaps a harbinger for what would occur. Me and Frontin turned the corner and saw the whole damn town gathered at the inn, listening to a messenger from the City of Golden Towers.

_"—His Glorious Majesty of the Great Sun, Emperor Emhyr Var Emreis, the White Flame Dancing on the Grave of His Foes, has ordered the Stregaa lands to hereby send a centurion of Volunteers for service in the recent conflict in Nazair. All volunteers must report to the Noble of these lands. If the requirements are not met, a draft shall be enacted. Service to your empire is a privilege and a duty. We expect your forces to report to the Alba river outpost nearest to these lands for immediate training and deployment." _

With that, the Messenger closed his scroll and departed the tavern. It descended into chaos, wives wept to see their husbands and sons go to war. Others were angry that Emhyr couldn't get it done with his current standing army. Most were still digesting the situation. However, the eyes around the room slowly turned to me. I was overtaken with anxiety. Dilan was usually the one in charge of this. The fear I felt in that moment still lingers in my mind. I knew I would never be fit for these lands if I ran to my father. So I did what any aspiring young noble had to do. I stood up on a table and the words poured out faster than my brain could process.

"It seems that we could not escape the shadow of war forever. It looms upon us now, stronger than ever. I see the fear and uncertainty in your eyes...I see it in mine too. However, this is not how you face a battle, I have yet to experience the horrors of war, but if Emhyr expects you to go through it, then I shall be beside you the entire time. Noble blood bleeds as the rest of you do. That is why I am volunteering myself as the first of the Centurion requested for service. Together we shall face this battle, and harm all those who wish to bring death to us. When the 100 of us cross the Alba, all of us shall return. If 99 return, let it be me who falls in battle. Now let us go to the castle."

I cannot explain what came over me. Next thing I know, I was leading the walk to the castle. My father walked outside, unsure if I was beginning a coup.

"Caldwyn, what's going on?"

"The Emperor called for a hundred volunteers. I'm going to enlist in it!"

The statement startled my dad, he must've seen my naïvety.

"No, I'm going in your place. You are of age to watch over these lands. We will talk after I've gathered the volunteers."

Within the hour, my father roused enough volunteers, and the village resumed to a state of uneasy normalcy. My father's next issue was dealing with my anger at not being allowed to fulfill my promise.

"If any brigands come here you will see them away with sword in hand. If any 'taxman' comes to town, do the same as you've done to brigands. My boy, you're going to rule well, do not have fear. It will show in your face, and your subjects will see it."

The next morn, they shipped our. The home front was slow for the rest of the war. The real downfall of the Stregaa lands came a month later.

My father was given an impossible task, and he knew this. He was to assault a Nazairi Castle in broad daylight. Deliberately meant to massacre him and his volunteers. We were always the black sheep when it came to Noble lords, and our neighbors knew it was time to do away with the Stregaa line. My father would not have it, he sent a messenger up North. My Father has family here, the lords of Shaerrawedd. Our cousins anticipated our arrival. The rest of the soldiers returned to our town.

Jeurgen would only accept volunteers for his last stand. The Ceallach clan was marching on our lands. I was given the task of shepherding subjects to our new life, but before I left my father had one last piece of advice for me.

"Caldwyn, you are the future of our Noble bloodline, but most importantly...you are my son. I wish that you could see me grow old, but your duties must take priority. I…"

His voice trailed off, replaced by tears. It was the first and last time I saw my father cry. We hugged each other for a long minute.

My father died the night we departed our castle. I packed our most valuable belongings and the long track to the North began. You can draw your own conclusions Louis, I'm grateful that we made it to Kaedwen. I'm grateful to have a beautiful daughter. I don't give a naught if she has 'low blood' mixed in her. My father instilled the values of not giving a shit for that. I have made him proud by opposing Nilfgaard every day. I will do my best for you, we are able to do the most good we can for the North. Send a letter back as soon as possible. Thank you for doing this Louis, until we meet again.

* * *

Louis wiped an almost imperceptible tear from his eye. Dorothy pretended not to notice. He set the letter down, and took a deep breath.

"Write back to him, we need him in Ban Gléan if we are to go all the way."

Louis paused.

"I had another one of those dreams Dorothy."

Dorothy knew what he was talking about, all the veterans had them.

"What was it about this time?"

"We were at the Ebbing Stairs, on our way to the Northern evacuation...Luka was there."

Dorothy nodded.

"You should write your dreams. It makes things easier, my son used to do it..."

Louis sat on his desk, rubbing his temples trying to recall his dream.

"Thank you, Dorothy, you can go now."

She glanced at Louis sparingly whilst closing the door. Then smiled, for she witnessed him with an ink feather in hand, and a piece of paper that was flooding with words.


	5. Helter Skelter

The nonhuman district of Ban Gléan is a marvel to behold. Vastly unlike its counterparts in other Northern Kingdoms. Where other cities possess a ghetto, Ban Gléan hosts a proud quarter. It is a melting pot of Nonhuman tradition.

'Cleanest streets in all the North's Ghettoes' the Tavern owners would oft brag to passerby's. 'The Squirrels would be hard-pressed to find an elf willing to house them' was a common phrase passing soldiers would hear.

The D'hoine here respected their nonhuman counterparts. Multiple reasons persisted as to why. One was Carlisle Skelter. The Viziman Elf that presided within the heart of the Quarter.

The night afore Louis' assembly of the city, Carlisle entered his home. The famished man became infatuated by images of what he'd cook. Perhaps some bread with caramelized onions. No, rather the pork that he'd been meaning to cook. The images swirled in his head whilst ascending the steps to his apartment. Unfortunately for him, all dreamy manifestations of food vanished upon entrance to his residency.

"Carlisle Skelter…nonhuman representative on Ban Gléan."

The intruder sat on Carlisle's couch. Consuming a sandwich produced from his pantry. That wholeheartedly eliminated the minuscule good faith occupying Carlisle. Alternatively mobilizing his hidden knife. The Elf had worked hard to purchase this apartment, it sure as hell won't host a stranger. Not one that ate the bread he uses for his unfathomably exquisite sandwiches.

"I must apologize for helping myself to your food. It was a long ride from Dol Blathanna."

The man spoke Elvish, Carlisle responded likewise.

"Have you any weapons on you? Drop them, I'm not afraid to paint my walls red."

Once again, the stranger revealed his unarmed persons.

"You needn't worry, if I wanted to harm you, I wouldn't be eating a sandwich on your couch. The name is Ma'val Helter. I have been dispatched at the behest of The Daisy of the Valley's, Francesca Findabair."

Carlisle betrayed visible confusion that dismayed him from sheathing the knife.

"Who the fuck is Francesca Findabair? What the gods is this?"

Helter's face soured.

"Have you any tea? I can answer your inquiries if you get a kettle boiling."

Carlisle sighed, caving into the man's demands. Always the pragmatist, he knew particulars extracted from this individual proved vital to Louis. The teamaking proceeded with haste, prompting Ma'val to balance the books. Carlisle awaited a response, adjusting to a relaxed position. Leaning on the window sill, he pricked up his ears.

"In regards to your questions, Francesca is...was a member of the sorcerers guild. She retreated from the Thanedd summit to form a nation for nonhumans...a place to call home."

Carlisle released a grunt.

"Really now, this is Dol Blathanna? Tell me, are you whoring out to Nilfgaard?"

Ma'val was flabbergasted by the inquiry, nonetheless, he retorted.

"We are allied with Nilfgaard, yes...but-"

Carlisle cut him off, all the while scouring his pantry for loose tea.

"No, you're a pawn to Nilfgaard, you know what will happen to that bitch Francesca once Nilfgaard is pushed across the Yaruga? Hm? There'll be a bounty on her head, your Dol Blathanna will be overrun. Worst of all, the non humans who made a life in the North will have go through the shit you put us through again. We've been through pogroms, extra taxes, brigands, but you haven't seen us put on a hat and galavant around Brokilon. Why are you even here?"

Amidst his rant, Carlisle found the Koviri Breakfast Tea. The disgruntled elf prepared the mug. An answer awaited him upon deliverance to Ma'vall.

"I'm here to formally ask for Ban Gléan to quietly revolt against Kaedwen. We can supply a Vrihedd detachment to assist you in your conquest. The acquisition of border cities like this will ease up logistical issues for our Commando's. I know you're not favorable of us, but surely you understand we are the only way forward."

Carlisle felt his anger rising. Yet, he suppressed his bubbling ire. Alternatively opting for gripping his kitchen ledge.

"No."

Ma'val groaned, predicting this answer.

"May I inquire as to why?"

"I serve the non-humans of Ban Gléan, not that pampered bitch in Dol Blathanna. Tell your terrorists to stay far away from this city and our people. We've constructed lives for ourselves, all you do is destroy!"

Helter paced to and fro. Arriving to rest against a window. Wing tousling his black curly hair, the full moon shone on his face. Revealing it to be devoid of scars. Carlisle took notice.

"Tell me, how many winters have you?"

"Twenty, sir."

"I've Thirty-Eight, I served in the first war. As a spy...excuse me."

Carlisle disappeared into his chamber, providing a Medal of Valor from the Temerian Intelligence Corps upon reemergence.

"This Medal was given to me in a ceremony attended by King Foltest and General Natalis. I earned it by dismantling seven Vrihedd Brigades from the inside. Thousands of Northerners would've died if I didn't put them six feet under. The things I saw them do made me ashamed to be elvish. I've a scar on my back to prove it. I saw with my own two eyes what they did to all that fought for the North. Tell me, have you ever seen an execution row? Hm? All the boys who are crying to see their mother again? Only to end up gurgling on their own blood, tears in their eyes? Have you ever seen a group of Dwarven mercenaries singing a tune from the Mahakaman mines as they dug their own graves? That's what I saw during my time in the Scoia'tael, and I won't let a single one of them into this city. Get the fuck out of Kaedwen, I won't ask twice."

Ma'val's ire climaxed, his adolescent innocence that successfully concealed itself had now shone brighter than the full moon.

"You're a damned turncoat that's what you are!"

Carlisle snatched the mug back to his possession.

"No! You're a naïve boy who doesn't understand how change really gets done! Right now I'm doing more than you and your merry band of terrorists could ever hope to accomplish in a century! You can keep spilling elven blood for a foolish cause, but I refuse to die for such a blood-soaked ambition."

Helter scoured for words, yet offered naught. All he could gather was a weak rejoinder.

"But what about the slurs, the pogroms? Our people are being murdered! All the while you chum up to our killers, you spy for them for Blathanna's sake!"

Carlisle pondered for a moment.

"For every terrible D'hoine that calls me a pointy ear traitor, there is a man like Louis. I assume you saw the extra guards stationed around the quarter? That is done to prevent any smart-alec's that may want a pogrom. Mayor Charlins may be an older man, but he is the type that will lead the Kingdoms of the future. You would never know that if you slaughtered him as the Squirrels do. That is why I do what I do, so that men like him may live to fight another day. So go die for your useless cause, or do what I did...The right thing."

Helter felt utterly useless, he presumed to convert this man to this indefatigable cause. All he acquired was the truth. Not all D'hoine wanted him dead, not every Elf was a stalwart liberator.

"Well, what is the right thing?"

"That's up to you to decide. If it were up to me, I'd save a tidy sum, and buy a nice home on the Ofieri coast. Far away from all this, but it's too late for me. Tell me, have you any family?"

"No sir, I'm an orphan."

Carlisle hadn't always been...Carlisle. Before the Temerian Intelligence, he was Cassidy Vantel. His emigration to Kaedwen after the war was marked with Scoia'tael assassination attempts. So he decided to make them win.

Carlisle was always prepared. In Cassidy's coffin is a Pontar travel permit and coin. He smirked at the soldier. For tonight, a young boy doomed to fight and die would get a way out.

"If I offered you a way out of the Scoia'tael, would you take it?"

"Aye, I would."

"Very well then, listen closely."

Carlisle inhaled sharply.

"There is a graveyard 100 paces east of here. That graveyard is where I faked my death under the name Cassidy Vantel. Within the coffin is a thousand coin, a change of clothes, and a travel permit across the Pontar. Take a ferry to the Novigrad in new clothes, don't reveal your coin to ANYONE. Once you get to Novigrad, look for a man named Hattori. Inform him that you were sent by Cassidy. He is going to ask you for your favorite holiday. The correct answer is Vacren Va. Follow his instructions from there. There will be consequences if you do not show up to Hattori in the next week. We have our ways."

"Alright...I promise, I don't know how to thank you for this"

"It's easy...once you've finished, leave the coffin open so it's easier to restock the escape kit. You're the third Squirrel to approach me this year."

Ma'val curtly nodded. Any thoughts he had of rebounding were formally terminated with that statement. The Scoia'tael needed young fodder, Carlisle had saved lives before him. Ma'val would not hinder him.

"Before I go...these other Squirrels, did they look like me?"

"Aye, they all possessed that youthful glare you had. I just hope they remember me when they grow old. You best get going now, sky will only stay dark for so long."

To his surprise, Ma'val hugged Carlisle. Holding for a long while before letting go.

"Stay safe on the highroads Ma'val."

"Thank you...Stay safe in Ban Gléan."


End file.
